perfect ten

i may be “a gay,” but i’m still a girl. and us girls play games. whether we want to admit it or not, we all play games, esp. when it comes to our mates/spouses/partners/signficant others. 

and we all get burned once in a while with these games. and i suppose that, yes, i was playing a game with holly the other day and i got majorly burned. 

here’s the story: 

we’re driving in the car on the way back from breakfast at our favorite diner–or maybe we were coming home from home depot, oh who the hell knows, we’re at that goshforsakin place so much (i swear i get hit with a wave of exhaustion every time we walk thru those damn double doors that’s so severe i could fall asleep standing up, no lie) and it’s right across the street from the diner so it’s all become a big blur to me–and we had the radio on. it was one of those morning drive-time radio shows headed by a big-mouthed, obnoxious, mildly loveable dj whose job it is to stir the pot and egg ppl on. 

so the topic at the moment was…let’s see, how can i phrase this without it sounding as trashy a topic as it was/is. the topic was the “theory” of how women that are “less attractive” are often “better in the sack.” the dj apparently backed this theory 100%.  both women and men were calling in to share their thoughts, including women that rated themselves lower on 1-10 “scale,” announcing to the dc/baltimore metro areas that while perhaps they weren’t raving beauties that could stop traffic, they know how to have a good roll in the hay. 

i decided to rate myself. 

“i’d say i’m about…a six,” i said to holly as she drove. i could already hear her response. 

“no way, babe! you’re a total 10. an 11. off the charts.” and she would seal her declaration with a kiss. 

instead she paused and said, “you are not a six, babe! you are totally an eight.” 

silence. 

(you just stopped breathing for a second, didn’t you?) 

shock. 

anger. 

and then the sadness only women and very vain gay men are able to feel. 

and then RAGE. 

“WHAT?!” i shrieked. “I’M AN EIGHT?!! YOU THINK I’M AN EIGHT??! I…I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU JUST TOLD YOUR WIFE SHE’S AN EIGHT! DON’T YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT WOMEN! GEEZUS I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SAY I’M A TEN! A PERFECT TEN!” 

first she was stunned into silence. and then she went into all-out protection mode. 

almost no one’s a perfect ten she said. practically no one. not even celebrities. 

i had goosebumps. i was that upset. i told her this. and yet–she didn’t budge. 

on looks alone, she surmised, she could only think of two women that she’d rate as tens. the girl (latika) from “slumdog millionaire.” and drew barrymore. (even in my rage, i had to admit to myself that my partner really does have impeccable taste.) 

then she proceeded to say that her personal “rating” system takes into account not only looks but personality. oh and this was supposed to make me feel better? if you add in my sparkling personality, that alone should make up the two points and give me a ten! 

oh we had a jolly old fight about the whole thing. it was really classic. really, you should have been there. (really, you shouldn’t have. i just said that to say it.) 

in conclusion, ladies, watch the game playing. i know you’re all sitting there shaking your heads like perfect angels, oh no, i don’t blame games! i would never!

oh but you do. you do and you don’t realize it. or maybe you do and you’re just scared to admit it. regardless, do yourself a favor. don’t put a “score” over your head and expect love of your life to do what s/he is supposed to do and rate you as a ten or, you know, an 11+. while we’re at it, don’t ask if your butt looks big either. b/c if you’re asking, it just might look big and you know you don’t want to hear it.

frieda pinto (latika from "slumdog millionaire"). one of holly's two "perfect tens." yeah yeah yeah. fine. she's ok. all right she's *gorgeous*. let's change the subject.

drew barrymore: even children and small animals love her. plus she can rollerskate.

 

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the radio’s about to do it again

lady gaga: her jazz hands can beat up yours.

since i’m basically a gay man, i’m really loving on lady gaga lately. (add to this to my undying love for both madonna and cyndi lauper–oh, and the golden girls. mark my words: in our next house, i will have an office with an authentic autographed cast photo on the wall. not that i’ve looked them up on ebay or anything.)

remember how i waxed poetic about gaga back in the fall? this was just after “the fame monster” came out (if you’re unfamiliar, that’s her new album with “bad romance” and “telephone” on it). oh G-d bless her and that album, it got me thru some rough times. i really really needed the pick me up. i don’t think i needed music so badly since i was a closeted high-schooler.

well i’m sorry to report that i’ve now started changing the radio station every time either one of those songs come on. and a new one’s just starting to circulate: an awesome little madonna-esque (circa ’90/’91) ditty called “alejandro.” and it’s occurred to me: the radio’s kind of ruining gaga for me! [*gasp* the horror i know; i am sitting on my jazz hands right now out of the sheer shame of it all. well i did for a moment, otherwise i wouldn’t be typing right now, ha)]

so in light of all this, i have a new theory: if you love love love an artist and loved a song before it even debuted on the radio, change the station when you hear it. i know. i know. it’s going to be hard in the beginning but it’s going to help you in the long run! really.

i am not one of those ppl that gets all tied up into knots when an artist–whether it’s a singer/musician, actor, visual artist, writer, etc.–hits the mainstream. not at all. more power to em. it’s just that when it comes to music, the radio can play the hell out of songs you love and then you wind up never wanting to hear them ever again.

so i’m curious. share with me: what songs (or artists, even) has the radio ruined for you??

oh and if you love gaga, share that, too.

something better change around here or else somebody’s gonna lose an eye

that’s pretty much what i said to holly. after she said, with a sick smirk on her face, that she felt like punching me in the throat. which was in response to me telling her that i felt like elbowing her in the face.

yes, folks, this is the face of pms X 2, which is what i talked about the other day. which is perhaps the biggest downfall of being a partnered gay female of childbearing age. since it’s about my turn to get my “monthly gift” (ha, those commercials are so funny) this PROVES that *i* JESSICA am the ALPHA FEMALE. i have, with my pheromones or whatever the hell it is that does it, dragged her ass into my cycle.  not that i’m gloating. well maybe a little just b/c i think it’s really funny. but the gloating lasts about two seconds considering the havoc hormones have wreaked on our household the past couple weeks.

i love holly. i love her dearly. we love each other dearly. but i am telling you something’s got to give, or, yes, somebody’s going to lose an eye.

it’s like this push-pull. when i get hormonal, i don’t want her near me. but whatever prehistoric pheromones are lurking just under (or on?) my skin make her morph into peppy le peu. she’s suddenly all over me. i’m like EW GET OFFA ME! and she’s like, well, she basically like the clip below.

(watch her face. oh that is SO me right now.)

did you see what happens to him at the end? yeah.

anyway, that pretty much sums up us right now. when we’re not at each other’s throats, she’s on me like white on rice. sigh.

why do so many straight women sigh and say they wish they were ‘a lesbian’ when they’re having problems with men b/c ‘goshdarnit, it’s got to be so much easier’?

tell me. b/c i really want to know. give me one doggone reason you think it’s easier?? b/c you…both have boobs? yeah, not so much!

news flash for ya, ladies. it’s not easier. it could quite possibly be harder. in fact, all the civil rights/legal stuff aside (like how we’re paying $200+/month more than “individual plus [opposite sex] spouse” for my cobra benefits; and, now that i’m laid off i can finally tell all of you that i was being taxed over $350 more each month for holly’s benefits than my heterosexual colleagues, who were not being taxed *at all* on their spouse’s benefits. yup, holly’s benefits were viewed as “taxable income” by the govt. since we’re not “married” under state law. you know, after the $25k wedding w/the rabbi and all. and 150 guests. but i digress)…anyway, as i was saying, all that stuff aside, i will highlight only a couple reasons being with a woman isn’t the fantasy you imagine:

1. pms

oh. you think it’s bad in a household with just *one* of you going thru pms? HA! that’s not bad!!! TRY TWO! TRY TWO WOMEN AT HOME WITH PMS. try that on for size and get back to me when you’ve changed your mind. (hm? what’s that? you already changed it? what, so soon??)

for a long time, holly was like, when it came to “that time of the month,” oh, i’m totally the “alpha female.”

what’s the alpha female, you ask? i’ll explain:

whether us ladies are aware of it or not, there’s always that girl in a group house, family, etc. whose doggone pheromones or whatever they are screw up everyone else’s cycle. that’s what holly and i call the alpha female. usually what happens is that the women, whether’s there’s two or 20, sort of…fall in line. oh but not in our household. nooo,  that would be far too easy.

so holly’s been thinking she’s the alpha female. and i’m like, whatever, babe, kind of secretly believing she is simply b/c she’s stronger than me on some levels (ok many levels), as in: she can lift heavier things than i can and is a better driver and whatnot [no she’s not “butch” but those of you that know the two of us know exactly what i mean. i should mention that a certain relative of holly’s that shall remain nameless (coughcoughsharon–hm? what?) recently called me “a skirty girly girl”  and even tho i kind of am i’m not that bad). but then it seemed like i was dragging her ass into my cycle. and then sometimes it seemed like i was being dragged into hers. so we basically have this constant hormonal tug’o’war going on where we’re essentially at each others’ throats two weeks each month. we sometimes get this weird phantom pms from each other, too. so basically that’s pms four times a month.

nice, right?

also (#2) we have so many shoes in our house. omG the shoes!!!! you would simply not believe all the doggone shoes. or the clothes in general (#3). or the sheer girth of bras we have accumulated thru our 8+ yrs together (#4). also jeans (#5). also everything (#6).

oh and i just thought of another: IT TAKES FOREVER TO CHOOSE A BEDSPREAD (#7). or towels (#8)! or furniture (#9)! most men don’t care about that stuff. if they do, they’re lying just to make you shuddup.

so basically, if you’re thinking of “switching teams,” how about you picture pms times two (four, even) and no closet space. and you don’t really want to come out to your parents, do you (#10)? i mean, talk about awkward! exactly.

if you’ve read this carefully and you’re still thinking about gettin jiggy w/the womenfolk, you’re probably kind of gay already in which case you have larger issues and if you want to talk i’m totally here for you.

pillow talk

it’s taken me about eight and a half years, but i’ve started noticing that holly and i have some really funny conversations as we’re going to sleep. she usually gets into bed before me. ok scratch “usually.” her ass is always in bed before mine.

it used to be that i would stay up til all hours of the night typing away on my laptop, but she’s really not havin it anymore. i mean, she never really was havin it, but i think she’s tired of me making a racket (“racket” being, like, walking in and, say, breathing and then brushing my teeth; oh and heaven forbid i move the covers and she gets cold for a nanosecond! anyway, i digress) and waking her up (she is an incredibly light sleeper. it’s kind of crazy. i’ve got a post coming up about that).

now that she’s in school full-time and not getting up at the buttcrack’a’dawn to manage hugeass construction jobsites, she’s gotten a whole lot better at staying up later, even, dare i say “late.” and i’m not being quite as difficult about getting into bed at a decent hour, probably b/c i don’t have a full-time gig, so i have way more daylight hours to do my writing. what that means is that she’s still awake when i get into bed. so we can actually talk before we both fall asleep.

so last night i come to bed and she’s watching some annoying/scary-looking semi-medical show on TLC (yes, we watch tv in bed and save your lectures; we put on a timer and it helps us fall asleep–man i’m snarky today! anyway) and pretty soon it’s apparent it’s one of these “i didn’t know i was pregnant” shows, where, you know, a woman is eating dinner w/her family christmas eve and suddenly “doesn’t feel good” and goes to the hospital thinking a spinach dip or something made her sick and lo and behold, out comes a baby.

yeah, one of those.

we’re not big on the medical shows in our household, so i was surprised she was watching it at all. so right after, you know, the woman’s husband comes home to find his wife randomly holding a newborn baby and tons of blood in the bathroom, we have the following conversation before i get into bed:

me: “those ‘i didn’t know i was pregnant’ shows really freak me the hell out.”

holly: “yeah.”

(pause)

“at least you don’t have to worry about that.”

me: “at least there’s that.”

score one for the gays. hey we may not have equal rights or anything, but at least there’s no unplanned pregnancies. so we can add that to the list of advantages.

last week we had another funny conversation. i think it was the middle of the night. we just saw our neighbors get the sh*t kicked out of them on the street, called the cops, etc. about 10 mins later, i started laughing, b/c you know, what else can you do sometimes, when things are just so sad and ridiculous? you gotta laugh (and plus, it’s not like anyone died) anyway, i get reminiscing about some of my old apartments. there was the place in takoma park with the permanent residents–little brown roaches that somehow, thankfully, stayed strictly in the kitchen (i left about a hundred dead ones for the landlord to see when i broke my lease and moved to dc and got an unlisted phone number so he couldn’t find me). then the efficiency in adams morgan with the bathroom that was larger than the kitchen. i actually had to buy this silver rolly stand from ikea so i had a place to put my microwave and toaster oven. and i kept it in the living room.

“we’ve lived in some places, huh, hunny?” i said with a sigh and a nostalgic chuckle as i rolled over to cuddle against her.

“no, you’ve lived in some places. i’ve just come to visit.”

we both started laughing so hard. it was so funny i had to write it down in the “notes” function of my ghetoass sprint iphone wannabe (the Instinct; never ever get it, btw, piece’a crap). i decided i’d start doing that with these bedtime conversions b/c i know i’ll forget them.

i was like, “thanks, babe. but it’s not like you didn’t visit my ass every other day so i don’t even wanna hear it.”

then we just laughed more.

oh that crazy pillowtalk. if each of us could only be a fly on the wall, even just for five minutes, and listen to everyone’s conversations. there’s funny sh*t happening everywhere all the time. even at 2am in southeast friggin baltimore.

ok i think i have feelings for maureen mccormick

she's a survivor (hi maureen! love ya! txt me!)

you know, marsh brady? but the grown up version. maureen, not marsha.

i just finished her memoir, “here’s the story: surviving marcia brady and finding my true voice” [i’m reading memoirs like crazy lately as i put the finishing touches on my BFBP (Big Fat Book Proposal) for my own memoir], and i must say, the woman has been thru a lot. like, a LOT.

i must admit: i got the book (from the library; hello, i’m laid off. the pratt library system is my  supercool new hangout and if you see me there pls say hi) mostly to read about sex between bradys (ok, not “mostly,” that’s actually why i got it. oh please, don’t even. i know you want to know and i’m not telling) and the like. scandalous stuff. and while there is a fair share of sexual tension between maureen and barry williams (greg brady)–which, again, i must admit was extremely fun to read–most of the book doesn’t really deal w/her brady bunch years.

first off, i had no idea she was addicted to cocaine the way she was! holy crap did that woman do a lot of cocaine! i can’t even believe she’s still standing. depression runs bigtime in her family, too, so that was a big issue. there’s lots of other stuff, but yeah, she triumphs over everything. 

i love stories of triumph. i mean, who doesn’t? anyway, i was kind of feeling feelings for her as the book went on, and after i read about how much she loved going to this strip joint (with a couple male co-stars of a movie she was in; she was already in her late 40s at this pt and a mom) the deal was pretty much sealed. maureen: you so crazy! love that.

in other news, we arrived in butler, pee-ay this evening for holly’s grandma’s surprise 80th bday party (shhhhhhhhh) sat. night. the trees have all changed here, and it just smells so good: like fallen leaves and burning wood. and it’s so quiet. and trust me, after last night (i’ll have to tell you in a future posting), i am enjoying the quiet. i really am. i need to unwind, and this trip has come not a moment too soon.

isn’t it crazy that some ppl still think calling someone gay is a dis??

sorry i disappeared, guys. i had four-day headache (cold/bad-weather induced, i think) but i’m back and i have a story.

holly and i decided we’d have a date night last, what was it? wednesday? yeah, wednesday night. this had everything to do with the fact that we recently found an old amc movie giftcard we had forgotten about (read: lost) from our wedding. we decided (read: i strongly suggested) on “whip it,”  the cute drew barrymore-directed movie about a girl who’s mom wants her to be a beauty pageant queen, but instead she joins a rollerderby team. great movie. awesome soundtrack, too. i highly recommend it. (funny that i was the one that was really gung-ho about seeing it, and holly wound up loving it even more than i did.)

so we ate a nice dinner (i actually cooked it! i know, right?!) and went to the theatre, located in a popular–and big–faux-mainstreet shopping area off 95. this place is known for tough parking, and wednesday night was no different than usual in that regard. we pull into the lot closest to the theatre, and we’re trying to navigate our way to a spot and there’s a car–a hoopty-type thing–idling, just sitting there, in our way. i don’t know if it was the rain (the rain makes ppl dumb on the road, i’ve decided; perhaps this is just maryland, but my hunch is that it’s everywhere) or what, but it was like, dude, wtf are you doing? we could barely make it around him. if holly, who was driving, of course (duh! driving could srsly ruin my nails! ha, no totally kidding but i bet you believed me) wasn’t paying attn, we would have definitely hit him.

anyway, she was in one of her take-no-sh*t-on-the-road moods (trust me, you don’t want get on her bad side on those days so ppl, puh-LEESE put on your blinkers). honestly, i don’t remember the details (duh, looking at my nails. jk, ha), but she essentially swerved around him to avoid a father walking with kids. i think she yelled at him. but not, like, out the car window or anything. and plus the windows were closed.

so we pull into the spot and i think we’re in the clear until holly opens her door real fast and gets out and i hear yelling. i’m thinking, ohno. oh nonononoNO HOLLY, NO! do NOT engage this moron! he could have a GUN! it’s baltimore, fer cryin out loud! every single day feels here like russian roulette. he’s yelling about her driving, she’s yelling about his, and i’m sitting in the passenger seat just holding my breath that the idiot doesn’t, you know, shoot us.

my hands have turned to ice and i’m thinking, great, date night is kind of ruined and it hasn’t even started. she comes back, leans in the car, sighs really loudly, takes out the key from the ignition and then slams the door shut. i get out and we start walking towards the theatre. i break the silence.

“is he gone?
“yeah, he’s gone.”
“how do you know? he could be following us.”
“he’s not following us.”

silence. rain drops.

“what a friggin idiot,” holly says.
“yeah.”

we walk into the theatre with only a few minutes to spare and walk up to the touchscreen ticket machines. i start tapping on the screen to get our tickets.

“you know he called me a dyke,” holly says.

“what?”

“yeah. before he got back into his car he yelled ‘dyke.'”

i suddenly felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.

“you’re f*cking kidding me,” i said.

“nope.”

i stared at her feeling bad. i felt bad and angry and disgusted.

“you know, it didn’t hurt my feelings.”

i stood there, fuming in front of the blaring red ticket screens. i suddenly felt all bruised up inside. i know i shouldn’t have b/c he was just an ignorant idiot, but i did anyway.

“c’mon,” she said, touching my arm. “let’s go see the movie.”

we saw the movie and forgot about everything. we still held hands even tho i suddenly felt scared to–even in the dark. when some ignorant jerk yells dyke at you, somehow everything feels unsafe even tho you know it’s probably ok. everyone suddenly seems suspect.

we very rarely encounter anything like that. but it’s scary, you know. what’s just bubbling under the surface of so many ppl. walking back to the car in the dark, rainy lot got us thinking about what went down just a couple hours earlier.

“it’s like, so i’m gay. big f*cking deal. call me a ‘dyke,’  i don’t care,” holly said with a laugh.

“tell us something we don’t know,” i chimed in.

we laughed at that jerk’s ignorance. b/c that’s what you do. you gotta laugh it off. b/c ppl are f*cking stupid.

it’s crazy how some ppl still think calling someone gay is a dis. if someone thinks you’re a bad driver, they get out of their car, puff up their chests and call you a name that means you’re attracted to ppl of the same sex. woah, big dis, dude. gay and proud, buddy. gay as a day in may and f*cking proud of it. we’re here. we’re queer. get used to it.

plus you’re probably even gayer than we are!

booyah!

what’s holly *really* doing when she says she’s going off to school???

HMMM??? hmmmm?????

b/c how else can you explain THIS:

what *is* this??

gasp!

vampire??? megan fox maybe?? (ha! in our dreams)

neither one of us can figure how she got this weird mark. she says her bookbag scratched her. (mmhmmm yeah right) in any case, it’s weird and i laugh every time i look at it, esp. with all the vampire tv shows and movies out right now.

hi megan! what? you want me to have your t-shirt! aww thank you!

i finally found my crowd

and…they’re eight. or nine. basically, i get along best with eight and nine-year-old girls.

case in point: who was i hangin’ w/at holly’s four-year-old nephew’s birthday party on sunday?? (note: he tried to convince me he was turning six but i totally didn’t buy it 😉 ) and where was i hangin’  w/them?

i was in the computer room with her nine-year-old niece (regan) and her eight or nine-year-old cousin using an upside-down plastic bowling pin as a make-pretend microphone singing along with…miley cyrus. (that was supposed to sound like a whisper) we were doing some dancing, too. then we put on the black-eyed peas and gavin, one of holly’s cousin derek’s kids (would that make him her second cousin? i have no idea. i am so bad w/that kind of stuff) who’s…five? or six? came in and started breakdancing.

i was pretty much in heaven.

the kids, they do not judge. also they are shameless for their enthusiasm for all things cheesy, such as ms. cyrus. i, too, have great enthusiasm for cheesy pop culture stuff (tho miley is pushin it, even for me) and it’s nice not to have to hide it for once.

it turns out youtube is a great resource for the tween girls. every time regan wants to hear a song, she types (with just two fingers, so cute) the name of the song plus “lyrics” so she can not only dance around (she never fails to pump up the computer speakers to their full capacity, i kind of love that even tho it distorts the sound) but sing along, too.

when regan and i aren’t singing along to miley cyrus songs, we are reading tween/teen mags, talking about nail polish, which jonas brother is the cutest (she likes nick), etc. while she tries on my accessories (i do love to accessorize), such as: bracelets, necklaces and scarves (she esp. likes my skull scarf; great taste, this kid).

ok, now i have that doggone song in my head again. i believe this is the actual version we used sunday afternoon.

don’t forget to nod your head “like yeah” and swing your hips “like yeah” at the appropriate moment (oh and you’ll know it when you hear it). also good to wave your arms up in the air (like, say, you’re at a bon jovi concert) during the “hands up” part.

oh you know you love it. you love it! (it’s ok! i won’t tell!)

here’s why you don’t set off firecrackers in baltimore

’cause, friggin a,  they sound like gunshots.

late june/early july in “charm city” (haha; that’s almost as good as “baltimore: the city that reads”) always stresses me the hell out. it’s like HIT THE DECK every five minutes in our neighborhood. at least after the sun goes down. i swear, even the rumblings of our fridge ice machine set me off these days. is it wrong to say i miss suburban new jersey right now?? 

tell me: where’s the pleasure in setting off firecrackers? (holly, don’t answer this. she would gladly set them off every single night if she had her way.) ok, lighting a bunch and throwing them at the damn ice cream truck with the little girl voice that, after a brief silence, pops up in the middle of whatever it’s playing (damn truck started w/christmas music once spring set in: wtf?) at who-knows-what-decibel and says: HELLO?! would be fun. i’ll admit that. that would be fun. (shorty: you lived in our hood. you know the truck. total shoutout to you right now, btw. hearts.)

i’m already jumpy, what, with the helicopters and searchlights all the time (this is a baltimore thing, and isn’t confined to just our neighborhood, so if you’re a friend that hasn’t visited us yet but wants to, pls don’t be scared). but now it sounds like there’s machine guns around, too.

oh, and don’t think it ends july 4th either. oh no. you see, you have to finish off ALL your explosives. so the fun continues for at least a week after the holiday. yeah if you knock on my door and i don’t answer? i’m hiding under the couch. come back in august.

in other news: we went to latinofest last night. “ahh. it’s so nice to finally be with my ppl,” i said to holly.  not that i’m latina, but apparently i pass for it. i pretty much “pass” for what ethnicity is being celebrated at most ethnic festival around the city (save for african-american/native-american). so, yeah: greekfest? sure, i’m greek! (gimme feta!) polish–yeah, that, too. (gimme perogies!) russian? you betcha. (gimme borscht!) (of course my ancestry does help just a little bit on that one, wink wink)

holly really wanted a “latinofest 09” shirt, which i, of course, found completely adorable (seeing how she’s even less latina than i am). we weren’t finding them anywhere, and we started thinking that maybe they were for workers and volunteers only. she asked this cute guy working the beer stand about it, and he was like, no, sorry. then she joked and was like, can i have yours? and you know what he did? he totally gave her the shirt off his back. (hey germaphobes: he was wearing another t-shirt under it) ppl do that for holly. but the thing is, she’d totally do that for someone, too. (this is one of the many reasons i married her.) he was exceptionally cute, and this created quite a stir. fun.

we got home and watched “vicki cristina barcelona,” which came highly recommended from my favorite food blogger. i must say: i liked it. and don’t ask me how in the hell it happened, but holly fell asleep. and before the very best part! i’m gonna youtube it right here for ya, baby. i’ll slap it on in here for you, too, whoever you are. b/c honestly? sometimes the only way to make a monday better is to watch penelope cruz and scarlett johansson make out in a darkroom. ttys 😉